easy street

Normally I see clients on Tuesday mornings, but between a natural tending-towards-maternity-leave lightening of the schedule and a couple of people who have recently switched to every other week, I realized as I made lunches this morning that I didn't need to go in to the counseling center. Four delicious, unscheduled hours stretched before me. All to myself!

Under normal circumstances I probably would have easily filled those hours with all the chores and errands and nesting tasks that periodically weigh on me in their un-addressed state: sorting baby hand-me-downs, finishing work odds and ends, cleaning the bathroom, catching up on email, changing the kids' sheets (I do not even know how long the current set has been in use...! I justify it with the thought that the kids tend to bed hop, and with the bunk beds in the rotation, maybe the sheets are half as icky as they might otherwise be...?). But first, after drop off, I used the last visit on my punch card at the Rec Center, baring my belly a bit sheepishly on the elliptical machine.

I got home and turned on the shower, intending to rinse off quickly and Get Down to Business. But then it was so very nice and steamy in there, and I had the realization that there are precious few anxiety-free showers, taken on my own terms, left before the baby arrives. The era of showering at leisure is coming to a close. And suddenly the whole morning and its purpose shifted.

I made a big cup of decaf and situated myself next to a couple of loads of laundry that needed folding, to give the semblance of productivity. Then I streamed the latest episode of Downton Abbey on the PBS website. At 10:30 in the morning! Can you stand it?! Watching that show is like eating cake. Really, really good cake. Even when you're crying (and believe me, I was), it goes down so very pleasantly.

I declined to volunteer to do some work items. I fussed around on my new laptop. I ate half a Trader Joe's dark chocolate bar. You get the idea. It was all extremely non-productive and leisurely, the time flew by, and before I knew it I had to pick up Gabriel. The weather was strangely springlike, warm and sunny, and we spent time outside without coats and then made paper pirate dolls. After we picked up Frances, played at her school in the sunshine with friends, and arrived home, instead of enforcing homework-doing or piano-practicing, I crawled under a blanket on the couch and announced I would be reading Harry Potter now.

It was just one of those days. Between this bowling ball of a baby head wedged into my pelvis, the gorgeous weather, and the anticipation of a vulnerable tiny new person in our family, I'm taking the path of least resistance. The sheets will get changed eventually. Just not today. 

hurt head, hurt heart

My mom and her four month old puppy were visiting this weekend. After some initial rocky moments (mostly involving the dog trying to eat various treasured possessions, and a bit too much nipping when he was younger), mutual affection has been established between the kids and the dog. I do believe the many wild games of Dog Soccer in the backyard sealed the deal.

Last night the kids and the dog were a bit more worn out than usual, having run each other around all day long and then ended it all with a rousing Taco Sunday (which - oh my -  featured the Smitten Kitchen apple cake with salted caramel gelato for the dessert). Amidst the clatter of dishes and the sound of running water, hunting down Gabriel for his bath proved a challenge. I looked all over the place for him, opening doors and peeking my head in, calling his name. I heard him yelling for privacy just as I opened his bedroom door but didn't react fast enough, and my head was stuck in just far enough to see him barreling towards me with both hands outstretched to slam the door shut. Which he did, with my head still between the frame and the door.

I think I screamed. Or yelled. It was a stunning pain, and I stumbled backwards, holding either side of my head, listening to Gabriel cry and yell incoherently about how he tried to tell me he needed privacy, and why did I come in, and why why why Mama? I knew I was scaring him, because I was having a hard time pulling myself together. I finally looked up and saw him clad in pajamas pants, the day's striped t-shirt, and a pajama shirt still stuck like a lion's mane around his dear, enormous head. His face was red and tears were streaming down it. I put it together: he was trying to surprise us by getting his pajamas on by himself, without being asked. Not only had I ruined his surprise, but I had found him in an embarrassing moment of dressing/undressing confusion: the clothes had not come off first, and now he was stuck dealing with two tops, one of which he couldn't dislodge from his head. And to seal the deal, in the midst of all this, the poor boy had to grapple with the fact of having given his mother a serious head injury.

So he cried. And sputtered.  The water was still running. I lowered myself onto the edge of the tub, beginning to cry myself, and beckoned him into the bathroom. I said, tell me you're sorry you hurt my head.

I'm sorry Mama. (sob, sob, choke). But you really hurt my feelings!

Yes. And you really hurt my head!

More tears, from both of us. The floodgates opened and we couldn't stop. I started to undress Gabriel and we kept on crying. I turned the water off; the sudden quiet slowed us down a bit.

This is getting silly, I said through my tears.

Yeah,  said Gabriel. We should stop crying or we'll be crying all night!!

So we managed to stop, though I felt the tears inside me, so many more, still desperate to get out. I fought them back, just as I fought the strange urge to bury my head on Gabriel's shoulder and let him comfort me. Not what a four year old needs.

But he knew. Finally settled in the tub and calm, Gabriel looked up and said, I know, Mama. You get in the tub with me and we'll ask Papa to give us our bath!

This sweetness nearly knocked me over, this recognition of my need to not be the one taking care of others just then, my vulnerability, the intimacy that our shared tears had brought on. Later I tried to tell Mike about it all and started crying all over again. It was a bit bewildering, until I realized that it had nothing to do with a hurt head, but really with the grief that has been sneaking up on me as my due date approaches. Gabriel will still be my baby, but he won't be The Baby. Everything will change.

Tonight Frances asked if I would snuggle in bed with her instead of let her read quietly for few minutes before lights out. I got in next to her and she burrowed down next to my big belly, feeling the baby move against her skinny arms.

Mama. When the baby comes we won't be our happy family of four anymore.

It's true. We're all feeling it, I guess. It's scary to draw closer to an imminent, irreversible change. We'll soon be a happy family of five, I am certain, but saying goodbye to this sweet chapter in order to turn the page and discover how the next begins...? My heart is full, so full it hurts.  

happiness is...

Something prompted me to free this dusty postcard from its magnets today, this postcard that has long been tucked into a corner on the side of the refrigerator between pictures of babes and artwork and who knows what else. When I turned it over, it made me smile all over.

When Frances was three, she had already loved Pete Seeger's music for a long time. She became a fan as a baby, calling out for her favorites from the backseat of the car over and over again. Track #24 on a certain CD collection...what was it again? I've Been Working on the Railroad. Yes. So many times. We heard it hundreds of times, easily. All before her first birthday.

So when she discovered at the age of three (how, I'm not sure) that Pete would be celebrating his 90th birthday, she determined to send him a card. It was delightful. And the most amazing thing? He wrote back! More amazing still, he wrote back months later, which makes a person suppose Pete Seeger slowly and faithfully goes through all his fan mail. And when a three year old sends him a birthday card, he responds.

I've been a bit weighed down lately by all the quotidian stuff of life that can get heavy sometimes: a cold that lingers endlessly, financial aid applications, gray hairs, ornery children, laundry that won't fold and put itself away. Rainy days. Nothing too awful, just a sense of heaviness.

But something about re-discovering that postcard lifted my spirits, and then the snowball just kept rolling, and so many things came into focus before my eyes today and suffused me with a sense of - for lack of a better word - happiness. Here's my little list of the moments that brought me back to myself.

Today, happiness was...

...hearing Frances earnestly pronounce that the book she is reading is the best book ever - three separate times, about three separate titles, within a couple of hours.

...watching Gabriel dive wholeheartedly into Mike's arms to say goodnight, seeing them in profile, nose-to-nose, lit by a bedside lamp, in a cocoon of security and love.

...doing what I love, at both my jobs, and in Spanish no less!

...smelling white bean and kale soup (maybe slightly less mousey than carrot soup?) simmering on the stove, which proved to be a simple yet satisfying meal. (So easy too: I had white beans I'd soaked and cooked the day before. I sauteed onions, garlic, and carrot in olive oil for a bit, then added vegetable broth and simmered, added 2 - 3 cups cooked white beans, simmered some more, and pureed. Then stirred in a bunch of kale sliced into thin ribbons at the end. Top with tons of parmesan and some black pepper. Perfect for a house full of sickies).

...reading an email from a friend with a 15 week old which consisted mainly in suggestions for a baby registry, all of them very astute, practical, and ultimately grounding. Yes, we will need a lot of baby wipes. Yes, three jars of Aquaphor would be better than one! Oh my. This baby will come, and she will stay.

...listening to Frances practice the piano. Then listening to Mike playing scales. Then watching Gabriel dance passionately to his own music before bedtime.

p.s. Just in case any of you were wondering what sort of postcard Pete Seeger likes to send, there you have it! There are so many, many things on my before-the-baby-comes to do list, but now I have mentally placed - at the very top of it - framing this family artifact.

money talks

Ah, carrot soup! Fitting fare for a destitute family of church mice, don't you think? Either that, or it's the terribly predictable Wednesday night choice of this demographically dull yoga-practicing, New Yorker-reading, Downton Abbey-watching mother and longtime Smitten Kitchen devotee (it's one of her latest recipes - the lemon tahini dollop is what grabbed me).

This morning on the way to school Frances observed that everyone she knows has gone on a ski vacation with his or her family this winter. Why don't we ever go skiing? Gabriel piped up, adding "or snowboarding at least??" This came just a couple of days after Frances asked me on our walk if she would ever have a horse, like some of her friends do. Or a gold bracelet with her horse's name engraved on it, like one friend in particular. No Frances, I don't think you will have a horse.

And this morning, I was a bit ragged around the edges with a cold and the residual effects of a madder-than-usual dash out the door, and I told Frances that many of her friends at school have a lot more money than we do, and not everyone goes on ski vacations every winter. In fact, hardly anyone does. It just seems like a lot of people do because you go to a fancy private school!

Oh, I do believe I became high and mighty, and lectured in a rather unhelpful way about how we are blessed with far more than most human beings on the planet, and how her school is great for SO many reasons but one of them is not teaching children firsthand about who all the different kinds of people are that live in our community. How could ski vacations and horse ownership be my second grader's peer group norm???

At one point she said pointedly and with a daring frown, "So I guess we're poor then." Buttons effectively pushed, thank you. I came right back swinging, about how we have so many riches in our lives (you may gag now): love, friends, family, plenty to eat (potfuls of carrot soup!), etc. "Oh, so we get to have breakfast and take walks together? Great, Mama." (Insert eye roll).

Really?? I loved my yogurt and fruit and granola this morning! I love our walks! But sure, yes - and this I did not say aloud - a ski vacation would be nice too.

The truth is, I imagine, not so much that she is comparing her possessions to those of her friends at school but rather that she is picking up on the provider anxiety that comes with new babies around here, the small panic that rippled through her parents when we discovered our second car required more work than it is worth the day after we bought a minivan, the little groans that come with certain bills. She seems worried, in a global, inchoate sense, that there won't be enough. And can you imagine? Shaking her by the shoulders and insisting through gritted teeth that we are rich in love and that's enough!! does not seem to be reassuring her.

Back when I worked on Fresh Air, Terry used to note how curious it was that people were happy to answer questions about failed marriages, past abuse, and drug addiction yet became offended if asked about their money. I can only begin to understand why I became so agitated this morning when Frances suggested we were poor and said she wished we had more money. All kinds of unsettled questions and worries - the dark, murky bottoms of which I cannot see from here - got stirred up in me.

Could it all have had anything to do with the call that I received an hour later, saying that Frances felt sick and needed to go home? She was suspiciously chipper when I picked her up in the lower school office. Maybe she needed reassurance of another sort (not the shoulder-shaking kind).

Oh Frances. There will always be enough.

favorites

Here are a couple of my favorite moments from this holidays-to-real life transitional week, during which Frances hasn't yet gone back to school, Gabriel returned to school on Wednesday, I returned to work on Thursday, and Mike is preparing to return to teaching on Monday:

Frances and I dropped Gabriel off at preschool on Wednesday morning and headed across the street to a cafe, where we bought special drinks, squeezed into a big, cushy chair, and finished reading the thrilling tale of The Mysterious Benedict Society to the very end. It took over an hour. Then we went for a cold, sunny walk in Eastport and mulled all the shocking revelations from the many finales over and over, until it was time to pick up Gabriel. Perfect, perfect morning.

Today I woke up and snuck downstairs to do a prenatal yoga video before the kids were up. Of course, that lasted about five minutes, at which point I heard them pounding their way downstairs. Gabriel rolled out a mat next to mine and did some of his own outrageous asanas, then fell quiet and watched the teacher on the screen for a while. Suddenly he said, in his best valley girl voice, Oh. My. God. Look at her butt. It is so big. (You may recognize that line from the intro to Sir Mix-A-Lot's timeless classic...he watched Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake perform it - admirably - as part of their History of Rap series and thought that particular song was the funniest thing he'd ever heard).

It has been a blessedly gentle re-entry! And I am glad for it, since we are all in various stages of a persistent cold, and I do feel like clinging to all the time together we've had. Part of me is unwilling to go back to regular life, with its routines that take us in four different directions. Once we take the plunge on Monday and start kicking it will be fine and even good, but for now I am hesitating on the pebbly shore, reluctantly considering the chilly water.

Indulge my senseless clinging, would you? Here are some more favorite moments from the past two weeks...

work for the new year

So today, after ignoring the enormous pile of wood chips in our side yard that has been looking at me expectantly for the past two weeks (since I was the one who talked to the tree guys working at our neighbors' house and explicitly invited the chips to come and stay), I decided it was time to break out the shovel and wheelbarrow and get to work. Gabriel joined me and despite the fact that I am feeling rather heavy with child these days, at first it was all kind of great. We plugged on merrily, slow and steady, me with my big belly channeling the spirit of Ma Ingalls, or one of those domestic homesteading paragons we've all encountered on the internet, or maybe just the older Lancaster County farm women who seem to glow with strength and stamina whenever I see them at their market stands on visits. Surely they have all shoveled their share of third trimester wood chips?

Gabriel developed his own technique, sometimes digging deep holes in the pile with long sticks, sometimes hurling rocks at the pile, and eventually using a lacrosse stick to load up his wheelbarrow.

And then, about half an hour later ... my arms and back began to ache. The enormity of the job began to discourage. And Gabriel, who had wandered into other parts of the yard, suggested a story inside would be more fun. Yet I persisted, for a few more loads at least. And then went out later in the day to shovel some more. The pile compelled me.

This holiday break has been so lovely, filled to the brim with family and friends (pictures soon to come), and the last few days have focused on the wood chip-like work that we have been waiting til now to do, before this baby girl comes to join us in two short months. Ikea furniture assembly! Hand-me-down sorting and organization! Even the enormous pot of minestrone I made for friends last night that had me chopping kale and potatoes into tiny pieces for what seemed like hours. It has all required a slower pace, a refusal to multi-task, a giving over to the sometimes tedious, sometimes soothing nature of work with our hands.  

It's been restorative. We've been working on it all together. Gabriel goes back to school tomorrow, I go back to work the next day, and everything will slide into a much faster, frenetic pace before I know it. So right now I am soaking in - as best I can - the stillness, the starkness of backyard birds on bare branches, the lingering hugs, the slow mornings in pajamas. The extraordinary pleasure of being our family of four, before we grow and change once again!

Happy, happy new year to all of you. May 2013 be filled with peace, health, and joy in your homes and in your communities. I do think it's going to be a good year.